“I want to be valued for my work. I’ve earned this.”
“We all want that—the other may be an added bonus today.” She leaned back and crossed her legs. One short block heel bobbed in a regular beat. Another thing I admired. Women around here wore three-inch-plus heels—including me. They made us feel tall, with all the power height carried. Kayla’s heels never went above an inch. She frequently pointed at my shoes with a Why do you do that to your back? expression.
“Celebratory lunch? One p.m.” She flicked a finger to my computer.
I tapped the keyboard to retrieve my calendar.
“I’ve got half an hour at two.”
“I’ll be ready. Meet me in the south conference room. I’ve ordered from Jay’s Lobster and have a half bottle of champagne chilling. How’s that for planning?” She winked and rose from the chair.
Without another word she left, and I smiled. Her confidence quelled my fear. Then I heard a soft “Liam” as she rounded the corner, and it roared to life again.
Liam Duncan.
He tapped on my doorjamb upon entering. His “Cullen, a moment?” was rhetorical.
As was my “Of course. Please come in and have a seat.”
I gestured to the suede chair opposite my desk. My arm stalled halfway, as it always did.
Our office manager let it slip one day that, at the three managing partners’ request, the seats across from our desks were custom-ordered to sit inches lower than standard. They were designed to put clients, opposition, and everyone else at a subconscious disadvantage.
Knowing this, I never sat in anyone’s office except Kayla’s, and I felt I embodied every horrid lawyer cliché when I offered the seat to someone else, especially to one of the named partners.
Liam considered the chair. “I’ll stand. This will take only a minute.” He shifted as if prepping to launch that minute. “We’ve issued a press release. Drew Setaro has been named partner.” He lifted his watch, a sleek silver Patek Philippe. “There will be a celebration dinner at Shanghai Terrace tonight at seven . . . I didn’t want this to surprise you.”
The words slid out so smooth and swift, and the glance to the watch gave them an extra-casual air.
I had to break down each word and digest it before I could breathe. Even then I wasn’t sure I’d heard correctly. “You. Chose. Drew.”
“We did.”
Nothing worked. At least not my head. It felt stuffed with cotton. I stood, and the heels helped—at least I was now a couple inches above him. “May I ask why?”
“He’s ready. It was a tough decision—” Something in my eyes stalled him. “But it was a unanimous one.”
“I see.” I shook my head. “No. To be honest, Liam, I don’t see. Please explain this to me.”
He dipped his head as if my request was unexpected, or rude, but he was willing to indulge me. “Setaro’s work is clear, authoritative, concise, and effective. We studied case by case and—”
“And I’ve worked more cases, winning cases too.”
“True.” Liam’s eyes hardened. “But when you look deeper, Setaro is covering innovative ground with his arguments.”
My mind drifted back to a conversation between Drew and me a couple years ago—back when we had only two things on our minds, the first being the law. His eyes lit with his latest case.
“I love my argument for the Briony case.”
“How can you love an argument? You cite precedent, again and again, and hope you win.” I pulled the sofa cushion between us. I remembered that. It felt as if I needed comfort, as if I was about to discover something I had missed out on.
While I curled away, Drew shot forward. “Not at all. The goal is to find something new and stretch the law. It’s not a closed loop, and if you know the tenor of the court, any court, you can win new ground, set precedent, and create change. Take any Supreme Court decision you want and you can trace how culture, the justices’ personalities, and the times in general appropriate it and change it, as does each subsequent allusion. It’s alive, Madeline.”
The scene closed and Liam materialized again before me. “I see.”
It was something I never saw coming. It wasn’t quantifiable or billable. I did my job. Drew followed his passion.
“What’s your advice? For me?” My voice broke on the last word. I cleared my throat.
Liam wasn’t fooled. He took a deep, slow breath to either consider my question or savor the relief. Last year’s losing Millennial, as Schwartz called us all, screamed so loudly the entire office heard her. My stupor surprised me as well—in the midst of it.
Liam smiled.
I felt my breath release. Then his smile shifted a fraction and I felt it. Condescension. Maybe it happened between every generation, but mine never got the respect of actually having grown up.
“Keep doing what you’re doing. You do excellent work and your time will come.”
“Good to know.”
He forced out a half laugh and a “We’ll see you tonight” as he walked out. Mission accomplished.
“Okay then.” I dropped into my chair, tapped on my computer, and opened a blank document.
One hour later, a paper in hand, I walked the hall. The top of 333 West Wacker was a swanky place with a view of the city overlooking the river and glass, glass, and more glass. Then there was the marble, the art, and the antiques.
Each named partner had his own style and commanded a third of the effect. Liam Duncan’s was Modernist Intimidation. Schwartz leaned toward Old Boys Club with his cozy-cigar-law-tomes and deep leather chairs. Baring reached for 1930s Art Deco, mobster-meets-the-law in Old Chicago.
“Is he in?” I threw the question to Liam’s ancient assistant and kept walking.
“Madeline— You can’t— M—” Mrs. Walker chirped after me, chair scraping, drawers slamming in her haste to rise.
But laughter through the open door told me Liam was in, and I was still riding my wave of courage and indignation, supported by a healthy dose of humiliation.
I crossed the threshold and waited. He was on the phone. I scanned the room and absorbed the two massive paintings on the interior walls, oils by Japanese artist Takashi Murakami. Late at night, we associates often scoffed at the hubris of displaying such extraordinarily pricey pieces to clients.
My eyes dropped to the gray and red hand-woven Persian rug. I’d had my eye on one just like it. I thought to use my partnership bonus to buy it. I gripped the sheet of paper in my hand tighter. It crinkled in protest.
Liam locked eyes on me and continued his conversation. “We’ll discuss this at our meeting next week. They don’t have grounds for an injunction. They won’t risk the exposure, and if they do, we’ll handle it . . . Good . . . Yes, I’ll see you there. Give Donna my best.” He put down the phone. “This must be important.” He pointed a couple fingers to the set of Arne Jacobsen Swan chairs in the corner.
I stretched out my hand.
He eyed the paper before reaching for it. “You can’t be serious. If you don’t get a trophy, you quit?”
“That’s insulting.”
“So is this.” He gave it a cursory glance, then thrust it my direction. “It’s impetuous. I expected more from you.”
I noticed his eyes drop to my sides. He fully expected me to take the paper back, to slink away, maybe to apologize. I didn’t move my hands, but I did sense the light fist each created.
“This is carefully considered. I’ve been here long enough to know it wasn’t merely the partnership at stake. It’s the partnership’s faith in my work. It was judged and found wanting.”
I heard an old movie, The Knight’s Tale, play in my head. My best friend Mandy and I used to chant the line to each other ad nauseam when we were teenagers. You’ve been weighed. You’ve been measured. And you’ve been found wanting. I looked it up once and found it originally came from the Bible’s book of Daniel, but it was still the movie voice that played in my head.
I nodded to the paper. �
�Associates don’t get two shots at partner.”
“Making it one’s first time is like shooting par your first time on a golf course—very tough to accomplish. If associates get sensitive and display a lack of tenacity, it is not the firm’s fault they leave and miss another shot.”
“Perhaps not. But the vote never comes back around for an individual. Everyone knows that. And that doesn’t make it tough to accomplish; it makes it impossible.”
Liam dipped his chin. I wasn’t sure if he was surprised by my statement or that the associates had discovered this truth.
He stood, and I pulled myself a bit taller with each slow breath. One . . . two . . . three . . .
He slid the paper into his black leather inbox. “I’ll start the process this afternoon. I’m sorry to see you go, Cullen. You’ve been an asset to this firm.”
I pressed my lips shut against the many comments poised to fly. My brain generated them at lightning speed. Yet none sounded right. They needed anger to sell them, and I wasn’t angry. I was sad.
I managed a dry-eyed nod as I turned to leave.
“Madeline?” Mrs. Walker’s sturdy heels clicked after me across the marble hallway. Her voice had morphed from indignant matron upon my breezing past her to concerned grandmother. I kept walking. If I stopped or turned, the dam would break.
At the elevator doors I made a mental note to apologize to her.
Kayla met me five minutes later in the lobby. “It’s all around the office.”
“How? It just happened.”
“Mrs. Walker heard you . . . How could you?”
We stepped outside. Kayla waved down her Uber and we hopped inside.
“How could I not? You know my chances now. Nada.”
“Not—” She wavered a split second before truth won over diplomacy. “Fine. You’re done . . . But who knows? Maybe it’s for the best. Duncan is a misogynist. Schwartz is a misanthrope. And Baring? Something’s wrong with him too, but I’m not sure what.”
“Baring is a good man.” I swiped at my eyes. “That’s why he seems odd.”
“That must be it.” She wiggled into the Prius’s seat belt. “What’s the plan now?”
“As I said, this was moments ago. I don’t have a plan.” My stomach bottomed out as I noticed the traffic surrounding us. “Where are we going, by the way?”
“When Mrs. Walker told me, I called Imani. No lobster and champagne for you. We’ve got a corner table at the Purple Pig. We need well-cured fatty meats and better wine.”
“Not during—”
“What? They gonna fire you?”
I shrugged. Kayla was right. This did call for wine—but not champagne. It needed a hearty red to ward off the season’s chill and the frost of my future. And her old roommate was a chef there—we always got a good table and the royal treatment. Right now I needed the TLC.
Within minutes we were surrounded by octopus with green beans and fingerling potatoes, house-made meatballs with a green garlic ricotta puree, and the turkey leg confit with crisp lentils and cabbage. I swirled a glass of Montepulciano Cabernet while Kayla sipped club soda.
“You’re not joining me?”
“Sorry. I’ve got work to do and this isn’t a celebration. What might help your afternoon won’t help mine.”
“True.” I raised my glass. “Cheers. To new beginnings.”
We each took a sip, lowered our glasses, and stared at each other.
“Madeline . . . Part of me congratulates you. This is no way to live, and as soon as I can manage it, I’m out too.” She sat back. “But if you want big law, you need to move fast. Word will get out why you left, and how. Finding a new job may not be so easy soon.”
“They should all know I deserved the partnership.” I cracked down on a wedge of French bread.
“And quit when you didn’t get it. To other firms, it’s a little cliché and a liability.”
I stopped chewing.
“You didn’t need to hear that.” Kayla had the grace to backpedal, a little bit. “I’m sorry. What can I do?”
“Join me for lunch. Nothing more.”
We ate in silence as my vision narrowed. She was right—my options were limited and becoming fewer with each passing minute.
It was a quiet lunch. Kayla didn’t know what to say and there was nothing I wanted to hear regardless. The walk through the office’s hallways was no better. Everyone had heard and pretended they hadn’t as they swiftly walked out of sight.
I heel-kicked my office door shut for some relief, then pulled it back open at the last second. Firm culture kept our doors open, and I refused to hide now.
“Picking up your ball and going home?”
The question sounded too familiar. If you don’t a get a trophy, you quit?
Drew stood in my doorway. Eyes that were once soft and inviting were sharp, almost accusing. He’d broken up with me, yet I always got the impression I’d somehow wronged him. He didn’t step into my office. He filled the doorway, arms crossed and his face equally strident. He had this expression that flattened his eyebrows and made him look somewhat like a vulture.
“What were you thinking?”
Rather than reply, I began to clear my desk. It was time for this day to end, even if it was obscenely early.
“Madeline?”
“Don’t snap at me. I made a choice, and as you well know it was the right one. You’re the one who worked up the data.”
He cringed. “I’m sorry.”
In those two words, I sensed the Drew I once knew—the one who sneaked kisses in high-backed booths, the one who always reserved a conference room so when we worked late, we worked late together, and the one who had called it all off with three little words: I need more.
I hadn’t seen or heard from that man in over a year and a half. Instead I found a stranger, a competitor, in the office on a daily basis, and learned the hard truth that iron sharpening iron only makes for very lethal weapons.
Again, I refused to cry. I widened my eyes to air dry them and I noticed something, many things, little things. Changes within Drew that I now recognized had been there for some time; I simply hadn’t paid attention. “Your hair is shorter.”
He reached up and brushed his hand against his short brush cut. I remembered running my fingers through that hair. It had been soft with a touch of curl at the ends.
“Has been for almost a year.”
There was more. His suit was more tailored, perhaps custom-made. He was always loose limbed and loose suited when we dated. He lived too distracted by the law and all the possibilities before him to worry about the mundane. As part of a couple, that was my job.
I cast back to his cases. Liam was right, Drew had pushed in the last year. I had cleared a few, but he’d cleared almost as many. So much of what never appeared to matter to him before seemed to have morphed into his being. I wondered who stood before me.
“Congratulations are in order.”
“Thank you.” He stalled, unsure of me. “I appreciate that.”
Words burst forth before I could stop. It felt like the hourglass was running out, for my career and my answers. “Was this why you called it off between us? This was your ‘more’? The partnership?”
His half smile twisted with the last question.
“It was never about the partnership. That’s not what I’m about even now . . . but that’s not helpful for this discussion. We wanted different things, Madeline. I was honest from the start. You didn’t want to hear.” He swept my office with a single glance. When the silence stretched beyond comfort, he waved his hand at my desk. “Are you already packing?”
I looked down. Without thinking, I had stacked three picture frames, including one photo he’d taken of Kayla and me after we ran the 2015 Chicago Marathon. “I’m clearing some stuff out. Who knows when they’ll set security on me.”
“Not until you summarize your work.” There was that semi-smile again.
“True.”
“Wa
nt to walk me out?” Kayla rounded the corner full steam. “Excuse me— Drew!” She stopped so fast her momentum tipped her forward. He turned to catch her, but she caught herself. “I . . . I’ll come back later.”
“No.” I stood. “Drew’s leaving.” I gestured to him and tried with my expression to convey I was happy for him and maybe sorry for anything I’d done. It was a lot for a look, but I didn’t trust myself to offer anything more.
“Yes. I’m leaving.” He pulled his gaze from mine and nodded to Kayla before walking away.
I straightened my desk, hoisted my bag over my shoulder, and led the way to the elevators.
We walked to the Peninsula Hotel in relative silence. Kayla had a wonderful gift of knowing when to speak into silence and when to let it lie. She asked few questions, demanded no details—until we hit Michigan Avenue’s bridge over the river.
“Will you move?”
“Not if I find something fast. If I don’t, well . . .”
The disparity between my income and expenses hadn’t hit me until that step. It was no secret between us I lived paycheck to paycheck. While Kayla had saved for the past seven years, to pay off her loans and help a couple siblings, I had furnished my condo and taken a few extravagant, albeit short, trips. After all, I was young, single, and worked endless hours.
My signing bonus had been the down payment on an outrageous condominium, and every dollar in had practically meant a dollar ten out—with interest rates so low, credit was deemed a form of “portfolio diversification.” But now, with no income, credit was a liability.
Panic churned low in my stomach. “I won’t lose my condo. I—”
“Even if it takes time to land somewhere, that won’t happen. You could part with some of your beloved treasures to tide you over. That is why you buy them.”
“I’m not sure I can. It’s bad when investments become family.”
“It’s stuff, girl, not family.” Kayla sighed. She’d never shared my definition of safety.
“Fine. If it comes to that, you decide who gets orphaned out.”
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